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All day the noise and smells from the roadwork behind my house assault my brain. Drilling, scraping, jackhammering, dumping, steamrolling, beeping. This has been going on for many months. They say it will be finished by the end of this year. Then the construction in our condo complex will make its way onto our block. The front porch of the house above ours is tilting downward. Sagging? Can concrete sag? To prevent the sudden collapse of the concrete onto our heads as we walk out of our front door, they installed two thick poles that frame our front door and theoretically hold up the dispirited concrete. Later, they added poles running diagonally from the front of our house to the cement stairs we walk down to reach our house. These poles prevented us from walking directly to our next door neighbor’s house. Instead we have to walk up our stairs and down theirs to get to the door that’s maybe six feet away from ours. More recently they installed large sheets of plywood next to our door and the neighbor’s door, and began to dig a hole through what was the walkway between them. I don’t know what the hole is for. It’s been there for months now.
At night the noise from within my head keeps me awake. Until the last couple years, falling asleep came easily to me, and I could do it under almost any circumstances. Now, the tiny blinking light from a digital device, the gurgle of the toilet running downstairs, the smell of my own sweat will keep me awake. As many nights as not I have to move to a different room because my husband is snoring. We’ve shared a bed for 21 years and I’m sure he didn’t just start snoring this year, but I’m no longer able to ignore it. He says I snore too, which may be true but he manages to sleep anyway.
Of course it’s not just the external stimuli that keep me awake. It’s also the trickster commonly called perimenopause. If you’re a woman my age and you’re experiencing almost any vexing symptom, it’s likely perimenopause. And it feels impossible to extricate the anxiety from hormonal roller coaster. It’s all in there, swirling around like ratatouille or risotto in my head, convincing me that it requires vigilance and constant attention, lest something boil over or burn.
Meanwhile, in my husband’s brain, insidious and mean-spirited demons, also known as glioblastoma, are at work. He is battling them with daily chemo pills and 30 doses of radiation, which surprisingly feels like nothing. He is feeling fine so far, after weeks of worrying that treatment would knock him out. I am holding my breath, wondering when the other shoe will drop. He is not working, which is understandably confusing for him. He’s had to work for the past three decades. Instead, he is making new friends. Our people have shown up for us in beautiful and powerful ways. Friends signed up to drive him to the hospital every day for radiation. Friends are coming over to play cribbage with him. Friends are taking him to his favorite park. Some of these folks he already knew. Some of them I knew but he had never met. Some of them were, honestly, just acquaintances or friends of friends or people on Facebook who we met 20 years ago, but now they’re real friends, because they are showing up.
My husband is an introvert. He cares about people and he cultivates relationships with people he volunteers and works with, and he is incredibly kind. But he’s often struggled in social situations where he feels like he isn’t being heard, or that his presence isn’t valued. Now, everyone tells him frequently and explicitly that he matters, that he is valued, and that they want the best for him and want to spend time with him and want to be of help. If only it didn’t take a life-threatening diagnosis to make this happen. In ordinary circumstances, it would likely be perceived (by many people, if not all) as awkward or odd to post on social media that you’re looking for good people to do fun things with your husband. But in this situation, it’s all good. He has often wondered (and worried) about what his legacy is, and if he’s made a difference in the world. Now he’s gotten hundreds and hundreds of affirmations and confirmations that his existence and his actions and simply his compassion and kindness have been known and felt and will have ripple effects far into the future.
While he was in the hospital, I embarked on some kind of fever pitch Marie Kondo quest to get rid of stuff from our house. We’ve always had a lot of clutter and I have always—constantly—steadily tried to purge things whenever possible. But this time around I was possessed by this fervor. Friends and family came over and helped me make decisions, organize, and physically remove junk from my house so I didn’t have to worry about it. Bags and boxes went to Goodwill. Bags and boxes were posted on Buy Nothing. I delivered donations to people I thought could use them. I cleaned, I consolidated, I threw away so much crap. Almost all of those piles of “we’ll figure this out later” are gone now. Not that our house is spotless or minimalist now, but I do feel a sense of relief that our existence is less crowded. It’s possible I thought that getting rid of all the unneeded physical stuff would also empty my mind of unnecessary garbage. And maybe in some way it did. Because something had to go to make room for the currently consuming thoughts of scheduling appointments and seeking support and following medication regimens, on top of the regularly scheduled concerns about parenting, paying bills, and that oft-mentioned and elusive “self-care” that I hear so much about. I went to the dentist today and learned that one of my teeth that already had a filling now has a cavity on its side so I will need a crown (or possibly a root canal!) and we’ve maxed out our dental insurance benefit. Does this count as self-care? Technically, I’m caring for myself, but it wasn’t terribly fun. I’ll keep working on that. Oh—I’m going to see live music tonight with friends. Much more pleasant than a root canal.
Between the time I started writing this and now, the noise has stopped. The construction workers have gone home for the day. The wind that’s been blowing leaves around has stilled. I’ll try to follow suit and allow my brain to quiet down as well. At least for a little while.
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Today, for our 20th wedding anniversary, I took our kid to the library to research Megan Rapinoe and browse the cookbook section because our kid has lice and the fifth grade is complete chaos. As is often the case even though we both work from home, Randy and I saw each other in passing, sharing a quick kiss and saying “I love you” when I left the house. We’ve texted more often than we’ve spoken in person today. I am pretty sure he is upstairs right now finishing up his last work meeting of the day from his desk in the corner of our bedroom. His is not an ideal office space, but pandemic + small house = it is what it is. More often we work in the family room together. My desk is there, another space completely lacking privacy. See previous sentence. Meanwhile, Niki is in their room participating in their online book club, and Zoe is working her shift at the front desk at EvolveAll, one of her two afterschool jobs. Dinner will be a meal kit from Marley Spoon. As usual, the washer and dryer are running (today on high heat to guarantee extermination of any persistent lice). Despite our continuous folding, a new mountain of clean laundry is rising on the loveseat.
Lest you think we are completely unromantic, we will celebrate with a date at the Birchmere (one of our favorite live music venues) tomorrow night, sans kids. And, more extravagantly, we are planning a trip to Canada for this summer. This will be our first trip ever without the kids that’ll last longer than a weekend, I’m pretty sure. I am giddy with excitement as I imagine the simplicity of our decision making every time we want to eat or choose an activity for a whole week. So we will continue with our regularly (over)scheduled lives tonight and really do it up in a few months.
We have not bought each other anniversary presents for many years, although we did Google the “traditional” 20th anniversary gift. It is china. We were not interested in china when we got married and we still have no need of it. We also have no plans to visit China, or acquire it. The “modern” 20th anniversary gift is platinum. I’m not even sure what items exist that we could purchase made of platinum. Our friends suggested we dye our hair platinum blond for the occasion. Too much trouble. So I am offering the gift I know best: words.
Things I love about my husband:
- He loves and supports me unconditionally. I remember when I was growing up seeing examples of marriages (not my parents’, thankfully) in which one or both spouses frequently questioned or criticized their choices or actions, even the seemingly smallest and least significant. Our marriage includes a lot of room for mistakes. We’ve both made plenty. We try to model this grace for our kids. Randy encourages me to do what I want to do. He believes in me and reminds me that I’m awesome, and I try to do the same for him.
- He cares so much about the world and the people in it and making life better for them. In my dad’s toast at our wedding reception, my dad said the two of us exemplified the Jewish concept of Tikkun Olam, which means to repair or improve the world. For better or worse, we’re both still at it. Randy devotes a massive amount of time and energy to Tikkun Olam–through both paid and volunteer work as an advocate for economic, social, housing, and food justice. He meets with policymakers to convince them to reinstate the Child Tax Credit and expand nutrition benefits. He volunteers at our local food bank. He writes letters to the editor. He helps total strangers who find him on social media to navigate the complexities of applying for public benefits. He is writing a book. He is ready for a revolution. He has a heart that is sometimes so big it hurts.
- He loves and is moved by music as much as I am. The longer we’ve been together, the more of our musical tastes overlap, and he’s introduced me to some of my favorite artists. There are few things we love more than enjoying live music together. I can usually predict when a piece of music will make him cry. Often we seek or find different things meaningful in the music we listen to, both of us appreciate the power of music and what it means to us individually and together.
- Long, long before he was a dad, Randy was the master of the dad joke. He is a punster of the highest degree. He will never, ever, ever pass up the opportunity to make a joke. One time at the dinner table he burst out laughing seemingly apropos of nothing. After he settled down, we asked what was so funny and he said he couldn’t even remember, but he had remembered something funny from sometime and just started cracking up. I can’t imagine falling in love with someone who didn’t make me laugh. Fortunately Randy makes me laugh every day, so I’m still in love!
- Except for cribbage, with which I struggle because of the mental math, we are absurdly evenly matched at gameplay and wordplay and puzzles and we have fun matching wits. Randy is typically a bit better at strategy and looking ahead to the next move. I’m usually a bit better when speed or improvisation is involved. But give us a crossword or Bananagrams or Trivial Pursuit or just some silly rhyming thing we make up to amuse each other when we’re trying to fall asleep and not think about everything that’s wrong with the world, we’re likely to keep pace with each other until one or both of us just passes out from exhaustion.
- He is still curious and eager to learn and discover new things and people and places. Someday when we have more money and time we will travel to all the places we want to explore. Since we decided to visit Montreal, he has been dedicated to practicing French with Duolingo every day. I haven’t been nearly as disciplined. We are both always reading, writing, and putting ourselves out there in different ways to engage with the world. I can’t imagine either of us ever getting complacent, or apathetic, or bored.
- He is a wonderful dad. For a while he was convinced he wouldn’t know how to be a good dad, but he figured it out. 🙂 He loves and supports our kids unconditionally too, and encourages them to be themselves 100%. He has shared his passion for soccer with them, and they are now as devoted and knowledgable fans as he is, or maybe more. He has such a great attitude about school, and sports, and success in general and helps them to do their best without putting any pressure on them to be perfect.
- He is a phenomenal hugger.
Our wedding day was unusually hot and filled with cicadas and wonderful people and so much love. Twenty years has gone by in a flash, but also contained immeasurable joy and adventure and fun and certainly plenty of challenges. My brain is too full right now to even imagine what’s in store for the next 20, but I’m confident that love and joy and adventure and fun and wonderful people will all be in the mix. In the meantime, it’s time to make dinner. Happy anniversary, babe.
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1. Strong pelvic floor muscles
2. A bespoke suit. Or a bespoke dress. Or a bespoke outfit or any sort. The word bespoke is really cool to say and I love the idea of someone taking my measurements and making something that’s just for me.
3. Never having to enter a password or retrieve a password or reset a password ever again. Ever.
4. Migraine meds that always work. Asking for an end to migraines would be too greedy, obviously.
5. Insurance companies that always cover everything without first denying your claim or pretending you don’t have coverage that you know you do or deciding they know more about your health than you and your doctor do. Excellent health insurance for everyone. That includes vision and dental because eyes and teeth are actually parts of your body.
6. One remote that enables you to find and watch all of the shows you have access to through any device or streaming service, which you can operate entirely on your own without asking your kids or husband for help. And the remote never gets lost. If it falls between the sofa cushions, some mechanism ejects it automatically and returns it to the coffee table.
7. 500 more square feet of house. I know it would be too much to ask to have a new house, but I would love just a bit more space so I could have a room of my own in which to work or read or meditate or hide. A room with a door. That no one else claims as their own. Or leaves their crap in. Ha! Even if I had such a room other people’s stuff would inevitably end up there. That is the way of the world.
8. Bras whose hooks never get bent or stab you, and are always easy to take on and off, and that fit well and are flattering. And that you don’t have to shop for! Bespoke bras.
9. Moisturizer that is appropriate for my skin type. That I don’t have to shop for. Bespoke moisturizer!
10. A family pet whose species my family can agree on adopting. And who comes with free food and meds and fully paid vet bills for at least the first year. A pet that everyone will love to snuggle. Although I would prefer to snuggle babies from time to time. But I’m pretty sure the family will not agree to adopt any babies.
People keep asking what I want for Christmas. This is probably too much to ask, especially with Christmas the day after tomorrow. So I’d be happy with some soft, warm socks. Or chocolate chip cookies. Or a hug. I’m easy to please.
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Someday they’re going to publish scientific studies showing that living through the COVID-19 pandemic actually destroyed our brain cells, ravaged our mental health, and smashed our attention spans to bits. For example, I literally could not finish writing the previous sentence without pausing to play a turn in a word game, responding to a text, and checking the weather forecast.
I know a lot of people who have been clinically diagnosed with ADHD, but I feel right now like almost everyone I know is extraordinarily distracted. Is it because we’ve had enough of sitting inside our houses and our brains are yearning for something else to focus on besides what’s in front of us? Maybe it’s because we spend all day on various devices for work and for socializing and for shopping and for entertainment and we are conditioned to attend to the pings and the pop-ups? Perhaps it’s because we are so desperate for a change–for good news and for a definite end to this pandemic that we welcome that little burst of dopamine that comes from a potentially exciting distraction. Maybe this next ping or ding or buzz will be the one that turns everything around.
When this research comes out, those of us who have lived through the pandemic will roll our eyes and make snarky comments, like we do now when we see headlines like, “Excessive consumption of alcohol shown to contribute to bad decision making.” Because someone needed to study that to prove it was true?
I keep wondering how long we’ll be able to use the pandemic as an excuse for everything that is wrong with us. Because 14+ months of intermittent isolation from friends combined with constant interaction with family and unending uncertainty about the future is a legit excuse. But it’s getting so old.
Zeke commented recently that he feels like he can hardly remember life before the pandemic. He just turned eight, so more than one-eighth of his life has been lived in this bonkers environment. When he goes back to school in the fall for third grade, will it all be weird or will he have forgotten what the old normal was like? We keep hearing about how there’s no going back to normal, there’s just creating a new normal. But right now it seems impossible to build anything more elaborate or lasting than dinner for my family, which is hard enough.
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What is it called
when you’ve been
hiding inside
for so long
that when it’s safe
to emerge
you are reluctant
to embrace
your freedom
not quite
trusting
the invitation
What’s the word
for when you
can only
sit on a bench
watching people
who are probably
your friends
but whom you can’t
quite recognize
talk to each other
and laugh
you assume
they are smiling
too
What does it mean
when you’ve
forgotten
how to make
polite conversation
at a gathering of
more than
three people
when most
of the people
seem extraneous
and make you feel
awkward and
ill-equipped
for the world
How do you
follow the rules
when they are
constantly
being rewritten
how do you know
which ones to
obey and
which ones to
ignore
Where do you
find the strength
required
to survive
in the wild
when you’ve
become accustomed
to shuffling
back and forth
in your
designated
enclosure
littered with
all the evidence
of living
© Betsy Rosenblatt Rosso
April 2021
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I feel like my brain is producing a constant stream of reminders of everything I’m doing wrong or failing to do at all. Even if I take a walk or meditate or try breathing techniques, it all comes rushing back at me in waves as soon as I stop. I am neglecting all these things I’m supposed to do for my health, and I’m overwhelmed by them.
My kids want my undivided attention all the time. Zeke cries when I try to get him to do schoolwork he doesn’t want to do. Every day is a battle over what he’s willing to do. He is upstairs right now sobbing because I asked him to write something about a tv show we just watched about otters, which he loved, and which he was telling me all about. I just asked him to write down what he told me, but he refused.
I forget so many things. I don’t respond to emails. I completely space out on tasks I’m supposed to do. I write things down and don’t do them, or I forget to write them down. I can’t concentrate at all.
I can’t keep up with my text conversations with friends because they always seem to be texting when I am in the middle of both teaching Zeke and trying to do a work task.
My sleep is total chaos. The medicine I’m taking for my sleep disorder doesn’t always work. I often end up wiped out by evening and fall asleep at 5 or 6 for an hour or two. Sometimes I am awake until 2 or 3 or 4 because I can’t get my mind to calm down.
I am so tired of missing everything that we can’t do because of COVID. I am tired of being disappointed, and my kids being disappointed, because something we used to do, or we want to do isn’t possible. I am tired of not knowing when things will get better, or when my kids will be back in school every day.
I am tired of everyone being on top of each other all the time and having to relocate a million times a day to work. I am tired of battles about screen time and video games and social media.
I am tired of feeling like this. I know I am depressed, but I’m not so depressed that I can’t get out of bed or function. So maybe I’m not really depressed? Randy is being extra nice to me because he can see I’m struggling, which I appreciate. But I’m tired of struggling. Some days things go well, and I think I’m better, but then something doesn’t go well and I’m back to feeling overwhelmed and hopeless.
I feel like I can’t accomplish simple things anymore, like figuring out what to make for dinner.
I feel like since I’m trying to do everything at once, I am not doing anything well.
I’m tired of being worried about the potential health consequences of all of our actions.
I’m tired of grief.
I don’t want people to try to solve my problems or pity me. I know everyone is struggling and suffering. I wish I were more resilient. I’m tired of feeling pathetic.
One of the only things that brings me joy right now is making art. Now I have stacks of paper and canvases piling up around my house that I don’t know what to do with.
I just keep feeling like everything is too hard. I know my life is relatively easy, compared with many people around the world. We have a house, and enough food, and we can buy the things we need. None of us are sick and we haven’t lost anyone close to us from COVID. So why can’t I make myself feel better, do better, be better? It’s just too hard. And then I feel pathetic.
But…here’s some of my art.
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I feel so much lighter now.
I just delivered a bag of fabric scraps and a bag of scarves, both of which were FG’s, to members of my neighborhood Buy Nothing Group who understand how special FG was and promised to put her things to good use. Both of these women are without cars, so they were particularly grateful that I offered to deliver the bags, even though people usually pick up your Buy Nothing items when you post them on Facebook. I have been carrying these bags around in the trunk of my car for months. They are the last of many more bags of fabric, craft supplies, and assorted other treasures that FG sent home with me from her house over the past year.
Although FG was not a particularly sophisticated social media user (beyond lurking on Facebook and being aware at all times of what I was up to), I know she would have liked Buy Nothing. She and my mom inherited their parents’ habit of saving anything that might ever prove useful, as well as their generosity in sharing what they had with others. FG and my mom–and FG’s daughter, my cousin Melissa–have exemplified the adage, “one person’s trash in another person’s treasure.” Although none of them quite approached the collection and transformation of trash in the same way, all of them have always been creative.
I am usually trying to get rid of things and declutter our house, especially since there’s a steady flow of incoming items. And it is so much fun to see that the Buy Nothing community is thrilled to find new and creative uses for my unwanted stuff. I don’t personally know most of the people in the group, but I’ve gotten to know some of them simply through the exchange of goods and the stories behind them. And I have learned that these people are unfailingly kind and generous. One of my favorites–who I have actually had the pleasure of meeting in person–is a kindness activist who consistently goes above and beyond to help others. She had a kindness yard sale this summer–people (including me of course) donated all kinds of crazy junk and she “sold” it to customers for whatever price they wanted to pay. She raised $8000+ and she’s using every penny to spread kindness to others in our community. She and lots of other folks in our neighborhood helped this family build a rainbow schoolhouse for their daughter. How cool is that?
Last night my church held an (online) Remembrance Vespers service. You might not realize that you need a good opportunity to sit and cry about the people you love who are gone, but sometimes you do. So many people have told me to “take time to grieve” the loss of FG. Honestly I don’t know how that works. I think about her all the time. I struggle with impulses to do or make things that remind me of her, but of course I’m reminded of her anyway whether I do them or not. I really want to make chicken salad, but I always called her when I made it for a reminder of the family recipe or maybe just for moral support. I think I am afraid I will cry in the chicken salad and then everyone who eats it will cry, like in Like Water for Chocolate.
My lightness also comes from getting a haircut and highlights this afternoon. Why anxiety makes me want to get rid of all my hair, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s related to the idea of “I want to tear my hair out.” Which I don’t want to do, because that would hurt. Whereas getting a haircut feels wonderful. There was a new shampooer at my salon who gifted me with a fabulous head massage. I haven’t had highlights in ages because it’s expensive to maintain and just seems cumbersome. But I decided the world is such a disaster right now that I needed a lift that brightening my curls could offer.
While I was getting my shampoo, I did not think about politics for one second. I only thought about how that woman’s hands felt on my head and how lovely the shampoo smelled. While I was getting my highlights I started a novel that my minister recommended.
I did talk about the election with Adil, my stylist, because we always talk about what’s going on. We commiserated and tried to reassure each other that we’ll get through this and that our country has had enough madness and we’re going to turn things around. Right?
I can sense how everyone around me is holding their breath. Even though I wanted to turn over and go back to sleep when my alarm went off this morning, I turned on zoom and logged into my yoga class. And of course I was glad I did. Why as humans do we need to be reminded so often to take a deep breath? And another? And another? Or is that just me? Anyway I am thankful for the reminder. My friends and I remind each other that it’s perfectly fine to have a really low bar right now for what we can accomplish or deal with. We are all operating at considerably less than 100%. But that’s ok. We will ramp back up again someday. For now we can be satisfied with simply surviving and remembering to take another deep breath.
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On Saturday they wouldn’t let me give blood because my pulse was too high. I had no idea why my pulse was so high, as I have never experienced that particular problem before when trying to give blood. Later it occurred to me that the venti chai Frappuccino I’d consumed earlier might have been the culprit. But at that moment I had no idea and I was incredibly disappointed that I couldn’t donate. I have been taking supplements to increase my hemoglobin levels for several weeks, as suggested by the phlebotomist at the American Red Cross last time I donated, because I was only allowed to give whole blood instead of the double red blood cells I was hoping to donate. This is way too much detail, but all of this is to say that after they told me I couldn’t donate, I went out into the parking lot and got in my car and sobbed.
Of course I wasn’t just crying because I left with the same amount of blood I had come with. That was just the moment that the floodgates opened. Oddly, I have hardly been able to cry in recent months, even when I wanted to. I think some part of me feels like if I start crying now, I may never stop because there is so much to cry about. But on this particular day I was weeping for the loss of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, because of her humanity, her intelligence, her determination, her fierceness, and everything she did for women and other humans over the course of her legal career. And I was weeping because I know she must have been trying so hard to live through the election (hopefully) of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris so that her seat on the court would not be filled by a Trump nominee who doesn’t believe in reality, or humanity, or science. And I was weeping because the thought of the confirmation of such a justice during this already extraordinarily dangerous time for our democracy is terrifying.
All of this emotion may have contributed to my elevated pulse as well. Who knows? 2020 has proven reliable only in its ability to break my heart again and again.
Sunday I rallied. Perhaps the car cry was cathartic. Zeke and I made challah french toast in the morning, which was delicious. Then we went to the park by our house with the brand new basketball I bought this week, and a pink rubber ball like the ones I played with as a kid, and a tennis ball. Amazingly, the basketball court was empty except for a shirtless guy doing push-ups and jumping rope. So Zeke and I practiced some dribbling and passing. So far so good. Then I took some shots. I made a bunch of them. I tried to show Zeke how to hold the ball up and push it up in the air toward the basket. Although Zeke is tall for his age, he’s still quite a bit shorter than the net, and his shots mostly went straight ahead of him rather than up or anywhere near the net. After a few minutes, he got discouraged and shuffled over to the side of the court to pout. I tried everything I could think of to cajole him back onto the court to try some more, but nothing worked.
So we went to the next court–although I don’t know if it’s actually a court–it’s that area by the tennis courts where you can practice throwing or hitting a ball against the wall and catching it when it flies back to you. Maybe there’s a technical name for it, but I call it the ball wall. By this time Randy had joined Zeke and me, and he suggested we take turns throwing a ball against the wall and the other person has to catch the rebound. Randy and I alternated playing this with Zeke while the other person retrieved errant balls. It took Zeke a few tries to get the hang of this, but once he did he was excited. He started counting to see how many balls in a row he could catch. He figured out how to position himself in front of instead of off to the side of the incoming balls, and his throws got more powerful. Later that evening he said that playing at the ball wall had been “unbelievably fun.” I wasn’t quite as giddy as that, but I was definitely pleased we found something new he liked to do that involved moving and being outside. And we will absolutely try again with the basketball. Randy suggested going to an elementary school that might have lower baskets. We will investigate.
As soon as we got home from the park, Zeke’s long-awaited new desk from IKEA was delivered. Since we planned to start our home school curriculum the following day, I wanted to build the desk immediately. Zeke and I tore into the boxes and got all the pieces out. We studied the instructions together and assembled a drawer and part of the cabinet. Zeke hammered and screwed and refreshed his knowledge of the different kinds of screwdrivers. I estimate that he worked alongside me for a good hour before he became completely restless and wandered away. I soldiered on. Bob Marley kept me company. After another hour or so, Randy had finished his mandolin lesson and came up to assist. At that point we discovered we were short two screws, so Randy was dispatched to the hardware store to find replacements–which he did! For only 27 cents each! While he was gone, I built the hutch that goes on top of the desk. All by myself! When Randy returned, he helped me finish the desk, taking on the challenge of installing the hinges on the cabinet door. Then we attached the hutch to the desk and slid it into place. The whole process took about four hours. Zeke is going to use this desk for the rest of his life.
After I showered and we got dinner, I worked on the finishing touches for Zeke’s room, putting books and notebooks and pencils in their proper places on the desk, and putting the books that had been piled everywhere into the bookshelf that had been serving as his desk for the past few weeks. I created a little nook for him between the bookshelves. I cleared off all the junk from the dresser. I put some stuff under the bed. And I only ended up with one plastic bin of stuff that I have no idea what to do with. It’s in the hallway right now because I didn’t want to spoil the effect. We still need to put some art and photos up on the walls, but the room looks good. Zeke is excited to have a real big-kid desk. That he helped build!
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I have no idea why my hair grows out instead of down. I have left the realm of Bob Ross hair and have entered Malcolm Gladwell territory, and that’s not somewhere my hair wants to be.
But like every other seemingly small decision in our current circumstances, I have to evaluate the relative risk and safety of getting my hair cut. I’ve gone to see my stylist once since the pandemic started, and the salon was practically deserted and we were both masked. But every day is a new chance for some coronavirus bits to float in through the front door, right?
School starts a week from tomorrow and our house is in chaos. We are rearranging most of the rooms in order to give the kids their own rooms. This was a shift we had first discussed in the spring before the pandemic, which we planned to implement when summer started. Then we canceled that plan because my office, which was to become Zeke’s bedroom, was suddenly occupied by my husband, who was working from home. Because my work is more flexible and sporadic, my office became wherever in the house I was sitting.
Of course none of that has changed—we are still both working from home—but the realization that the pandemic is nowhere near over and the kids may be doing school from home from now through June has become undeniable. So we have been selling furniture and giving away furniture and buying new furniture and rearranging furniture to accommodate everyone in the hopes that we will each have a modicum of privacy and quiet. Randy will carve out a corner of our bedroom for his office and I will try to create an oasis for myself on one wall of the family room. In the meantime, our stuff is in bins and boxes and piled in the hall while we try to assemble all the pieces of the puzzle.
Hopefully a positive side effect of this undertaking will be the purging of many toys and books and who knows what else that’s lurking in our closets. I have no idea what to do with all the upcycled art I’ve made. It feels like it would be counterproductive to throw it in the trash from whence it was once rescued. I am trying to calmly remind myself that this whole thing will take a while. Of course we want the kids’ rooms mostly in place by Tuesday, but getting all the details right and inevitably buying accessories and giving things away in order to maintain the proper balance of stuff takes time.
Zoe is the most excited of all of us about this transition. She has thoughtfully researched design concepts on Pinterest and noted cool lighting and decor she’s seen on TikTok. I asked her if she could help Zeke with his decorating, so she asked him what kind of vibe he was going for. I don’t think vibe means a lot to a seven-year-old, even one as sophisticated as Zeke. He has said he wants to put up some of his drawings on the walls. I suggested getting a white board so he could write down things he needs to do or when certain activities are happening. He said, “maybe YOU need to remember when things are happening, but I don’t.” Perhaps he’s right.
So we’ve been spending a lot of furniture but it’s probably fine because we saved so much on school supplies this year. No need for new backpacks or lunchboxes or pencils or crayons or erasers or glue sticks. Or all those supplies that are communally used in elementary school—tissues, ziploc bags, wipes. We did go to Target and buy some notebooks and folders and post-it notes for each kid. Otherwise we have enough crayons, markers, pencils, and paper for a whole class of kids. We stopped by Zeke’s school today to pick up his new iPad, and we received instructions from Zoe’s school about how to reset hers for the new year.
The thrill of a new school year is tarnished by the fact that the kids aren’t actually going to school. I’ve seen so many first day photos on Facebook of kids at their desks, or in bed with a laptop. Zoe dyed some of her hair pink this afternoon for the occasion. We’ve gotta figure out something to get us excited.
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Looking for a way
out
of the chaos
or a way
through the mess
but I can’t find either
My new progressive
lenses
won’t arrive
’til Tuesday
What I hoped
would be easy
turns out
impossible
What I needed
to be simple
ends up in
a tangle of thorns
mixed with the
sickening scent
of flowers on their journey
to decay
My patience
has shriveled to
a granular level
because I am trapped
inside
far from the coast
with no means
of replenishment
There is nowhere to go
to collect my
thoughts
or renew my
soul
because
everything
is
canceled
closed
cut off
thanks (no thanks)
to Covid
Don’t remind me
that my bad habits
have gotten worse
those seven
deadly sins
squared to 49
at least
How can I
solve your problems
when I can’t even
stay awake
long enough
to understand
my own
Even my
conversations
with myself
are getting
old
You Ask a Lot of Questions 